


Library Series

by AmberLynnWrites



Category: Foggy Nelson - Fandom, MCU, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel Comics, Marvel Television Universe, The Defenders, daredevil - Fandom, matt murdock - Fandom, matthew murdock - Fandom
Genre: Angst, College, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Smut, but not too deep dont worry, or maybe idk !!!, some violence, we'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-06-17 22:07:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15471138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmberLynnWrites/pseuds/AmberLynnWrites
Summary: Before Karen Page, before Elektra Natchios, there was you. Before Daredevil, before Wilson Fisk, before Nelson & Murdock, there was Columbia University. Before you and Matthew Murdock inevitably had to go separate ways, there was a time where the universe was yours. You learned a lot about yourself during that time. And you learned a lot about Matt Murdock.





	1. sense

**Author's Note:**

> I am back with a new series! Same concept as Diner Series, but completely different tone, style and story. I am really excited about this one because Matt Murdock is my favorite hero and it was about damn time I wrote a series about him. I hope you all enjoy this one! I have an idea as to where I want this story to go but it is all still up in the air. Enjoy :)

Matt Murdock sits at a dusty wooden desk in the Columbia University library and waits for a moment to gather a sense of his surroundings. The first thing he notices is the tacky finish on the desk and the sweet maple scent that accompanies it. He scoffs to himself, thinking that Columbia would have nicer furnished wood considering the reputation the school has, but then again, not everyone pays close attention to detail like he does. Not everyone has the ability to, really.

He then notices the chair he sits in. It’s wooden as well but it has leather padding on the seat itself and the back. To a normal person this would be mildly uncomfortable. To Matt, it’s like sitting on hardwood itself.

But, he’s used to these chairs, and chooses to ignore the feeling and instead focuses on the padded leather. He shifts every once in a while, gaining a new comfort, for it to go away in a matter of minutes.

There’s a tapping somewhere. It’s not a pencil and it’s not someone tapping their foot, no–he hears it above himself. The start of a light drizzle. Rain is coming.

He smiles to himself.

For someone with heightened senses one would think that he would hate the rain. But no, actually. It’s the contrary. Matt Murdock loves the rain because when he doesn’t want to hear someone chewing gum or sniffling from a cold, he focuses on all of those water droplets falling from the sky and hitting whatever roof he sits underneath. It’s comforting, it’s soothing and it’s one of his favorite sounds in the world.

After getting a sense of his surroundings, he begins to focus on the people that join him in the same space.

The Columbia library is usually packed to the max yet somehow everyone joins in the quietness. Today however, it’s a small group.

There’s someone to the left of him at another table. A guy, he confirms. He shifts in his seat every so often and his heart is beating like a hammer in his chest. _The rain_ , Matt tells himself. _Listen to the rain_.

The guy must be nervous about something. Meeting a girl for a study date? Having a hard time focusing on whatever subject he study? Matt’s not entirely sure. But the beating of his heart is making him anxious.

Matt Murdock then focuses on another person in the room. An older woman. She’s sitting at the library desk, slightly murmuring to herself.

_“Damn kids. Don’t know how to read due dates,”_ She types away at her computer. Matt smirks to himself and raises an eyebrow. _Columbia always keeps it classy._

Matt would go through the other fifteen–no–sixteen students in the room, but he thinks he might get a headache from all the sounds and _smells_ they produce. Plus, he _does_ have work to get done.

But then he hears her.

Matt’s honestly shocked that he didn’t notice you first. He always does. Well, for the last three weeks.

Yes, he knows it’s you. He recognizes your soft perfume that lingers on your skin that almost seems like you slept with it, though he can never tell for sure. It’s faint enough like that. But he can tell that it’s a cross between vanilla and lavender. He has also gotten to know the pattern of your heart beat, the sound of it, everything. If there’s no rain for him to focus on, he’ll focus on your heart.

Something about your presence drew Matt to focus on you. Maybe it was your perfume or your heart beat, or maybe it was the way you went out of your way to be quiet in the library. He noticed that you take your time to walk slowly to your table of choice and even more so how delicately you pull your chair out to sit. The way you slowly unzip your backpack to pull out your books at an even slower pace.

He’s just _dying_ to hear your voice. But he’s only ever heard a soft whisper of “sorry” or “excuse me” if you were making your way through the aisles. You’re sweet. He can tell.

Instead of listening to the rain, he listens to your heart beat. And then he begins to read the braille in his book with the tips of his fingers.


	2. distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are many people in this library.

 

It’s not raining today. 

Which is probably a good thing. Sometimes the pressure in the air takes a huge toll on Matt’s senses and sends him into a headache, so today with the sun’s warmth and the air a bit dry, he’s actually not complaining.

He can feel the sunshine coat his skin through the giant library windows. He basks in the warmth and sighs contently to himself. Today is definitely one of the last few days before autumn finally arrives and stays for a long while. So, he sits for a moment. He ignores the people around him and focuses on the birds chirping outside. And he feels okay.

But he feels like he’s missing something.

And when he realizes what it is, he can’t help the soft chuckle that escapes his lips.

It’s you.

You’re not here at the library today and Matt can feel how empty the room is without you. Which is funny, because nearly all the tables in the library are filled. Not his, though. For some reason people tend to avoid wherever he sits. Matt finds that funny, too.

Matt hasn’t even properly met you, yet you still occupy more than his senses. He sighs, and opens his notebook.

* * *

Breaking concentration is something Matt Murdock does not do.

It takes a lot for him to focus on his notes, the bumps of the braille that run on the tips of his fingers. With his heightened senses he can easily be distracted by something as minuscule as a paper clip dropping. So he _has_ to focus on one sense to draw out all others.

But sometimes he does fall victim to distraction.

It’s not a sound and it’s not direct but it’s a familiar scent of vanilla and lavender. Matt doesn’t have to think twice about what or who it’s coming from. But what he does have to consider is that the scent is getting stronger as the person comes nearer.

“I’m sorry,” an angelic voice says quietly, “Is it okay if I sit here?”

It takes him a few moments to realize that it’s _you_ talking to _him_ but Matt quickly composes himself and looks up in your general direction behind his dark glasses.

“Please,” Matt replies, “go ahead.”

He hears you let out a soft breath of relief and carefully pull the chair out from diagonal to him.

Matt can hear his own heartbeat loudly. Or maybe it’s yours.

He can’t tell and he’s trying his hardest to keep from smiling like a creep and he succeeds.

“Thank you,” He hears you slip out quickly and Matt looks towards you again with a smile.

“It’s no big deal. It’s not like my name is put on a plaque at this table,” Matt says with a half smile. This causes a small chuckle from you which sounds like heaven to Matt.

“What is your name?” You ask in a louder voice.

“Matt Murdock,” Matt introduces. “And you?”

“___ ___,” You reply.

He likes your name. Shortly after introduction you both go back to your own business but Matt still can’t get you off his mind or his senses, and you sitting in such close proximity to him isn’t helping. But if Matt Murdock was going to be distracted by anything he would want it to be by you.


	3. sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt wakes up in the middle of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will get longer, I promise! Just starting off the series slowly, I hope you don't mind :) Enjoy!

_A truck blares its horn. An old man is in the middle of the road. A young boy runs out and pushes him to the side._

_And then it’s black._

_It stings, and the smell seems to get worse and worse and the worst part is that there is no light in sight. The sound of his own heartbeat drums in his ears and the only thing that keeps him alert is the sound of his father’s cries, but that seems to get worse and worse, too._

_It’s scary. And Matthew Murdock doesn’t know what to do._

* * *

 

An abrupt awakening.

Matt Murdock sits upright in bed and begins to analyze his environment in the ways he knows how to.

His eyes are wide open but he sees nothing. He first feels the silk sheets tangled in his hands and he runs through it slowly. Soft, smooth and comforting. He listens for familiar sounds and it greeted with a loud snore from his roommate and friend, Foggy Nelson. He focuses on it for a little bit before he smells the scent of his shampoo from the bathroom and finally, Matt Murdock lets himself breathe.

It was just a bad dream.

Except, that the bad dream actually happened, only years ago.

What do you even call that?

Matt lies back down in bed and closes his eyes and tries to find something to focus on. But, the noises he hears are far too loud.

Someone in the dorm above him has terrible taste in music and the person who shares that dorm has a worse snoring problem than Foggy does. The dorm below him is mildly concerning as he hears someone groaning, but then he hears a lighter pitched moan and then Matt drones out the sounds all together from _that_ room.

Down the hall someone is buying something from the vending machine and the way the metal springs twist actually makes Matt cringe.

He wants to avoid some of the conversations he hears. But he never truly can.

It’s a blessing and a curse, Matt starts to realize. And the weight of that is starting to get heavy on his chest.

But for one more night he searches for something else.

Someone is playing an Elvis Costello record but what’s more interesting to him is the sound of their heart. A familiar sound indeed, but Matt is already on his way to sleep again.


	4. shhhh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You just can't keep quiet at the library.

During orientation at Columbia, Matt scoffed at the announcement that the library would be open to students twenty four hours, seven days a week. What student in their right mind would want to spend their nights at the library? 

Now Matt scoffs at himself because _he is that student_.

He assumes that his arrogance got in the way of his rational thinking– _hello_ , law school!

So, he finds himself at the library again, this time on a Sunday close to midnight. And he’s not alone–apparently a lot of students are still here this late at night.

“Man, I’m beat, Matt,” Foggy Nelson groans as he pushes his laptop closed. “I’m going to call it a night. Are you sure we’re still thinking about this whole lawyer thing?”

Matt laughs softly and turns his attention in the direction of Foggy, “Don’t quit on me now, man. I’m afraid we’re already in too deep.”

“Dammit. Well, for tonight, I’m done. You? Head back to the dorm now?”

Matt opens his mouth to reply but suddenly stops as the air in the room changes. Small sounds like a door opening and closing always throws him slightly off guard–plus, Matt likes to know exactly _who_ surrounds him and his friend. It’s something innate in him that he can’t seem to control.

It’s you, and it doesn’t take Matt more than ten seconds to realize it is. You’re slightly out of breath which only tells Matt that you rushed to get here and it being the time of night, he kind of knows why.

“Matt?”

“Hm?” Matt focuses back on Foggy, “oh, no. I think I’m going to stay a bit longer.”

“Alright. You think you’ll be okay getting home? It’s pretty dark out and well… you know…”

Matt laughs again and smiles at his friend’s concern, “I’ll be fine, Foggy. Remember last week when I practically dragged you home from that frat party?”

“We needn’t speak of it, please,” Foggy groans again to Matt’s delight, “Night, Murdock. I’ll see you in the morning err… later.”

“Night, Fog.”

As Foggy packs up his things, Matt tries to find you again. He listens for the sound of your heart and when he hears the familiar beat of it, he realizes you’re in close proximity to him. Sitting at the desk next to him, to be exact, but Matt doesn’t turn to look at you.

“Are you okay?”

Matt freezes.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m fine,” Matt replies to you, straightening in his chair.

He hears you laugh and he feels oddly relaxed at the sound of it. He turns to your direction.

“Don’t be sorry,” you say to him, “you just looked a little lost there.”

“To be honest, it kind of feels like that all the time for me. And I’m not talking about the blindness,” Matt jokes.

This causes you to laugh again and Matt smiles to himself in satisfaction.

“What are you studying?” You ask him.

“Law,” Matt replies, “You?”

“ _Shhh!”_ Another student interrupts the two of you. You stifle a laugh and before Matt can say anything, he already hears you packing up your stuff and moving to sit at the table with him.

When you carefully place your books quietly on the table, as if you know he has sensitive hearing but really you’re just way more considerate than he is, you lean forward a bit and whisper to him.

“I’m studying English Literature and Journalism,” you say softly. Matt can feel the goosebumps rise on his skin and he nods his head.

“Cool,” Matt replies. _Cool?! That’s all you’ve got, Murdock?_

But still, you softly laugh, “I guess it’s pretty cool. Law sounds like a nightmare but I guess that just takes passion.”

“Well, anything anyone wants to do should take passion, right?”

You quirk an eyebrow, “Right. But with my major it just takes that _and_ having a way with words.”

“Law is a little bit like that, too.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, but I don’t really have a way with words. Maybe you could show me yours,” Matt smirks. He hears your heart skip in your chest as you open your mouth to say something but instead you laugh again. He notices that.

“It kinda sounds like you’re almost there but I’d be glad to be a helpful guide,” You say with a soft breath that only he can hear.

“That’s all I’m asking for,” Matt says.

For a moment you both are quiet just looking at each other with a smile. Matt, looking in your direction, and you trying to see what colorful eyes hide behind his rectangular dark glasses. And at the same time, you both let bursts of laughs that cause other students to be annoyed.

“ _SHHH!_ ” They all scold in unison.

“Listen, it doesn’t seem like we’ll be getting any work done tonight. University’s diner is still open,” Matt suggests, “you hungry?”

“Even though I just got here, the only reason why I came in the first place was for self satisfaction that I did at least _something_ productive today. But a diner sounds perfectly satisfying to me right now,” You confess with a smile.

“You really do have a way with words,” Matt says, “Trust me, I would know.”

Soon enough the two of you were on your way out to Columbia’s diner, not knowing what was in store for the rest of the night. Neither of you knew what you were getting yourselves into. That wasn’t such a bad thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have absolutely no idea where I want this to go plotwise/where it will go but it is a first love story! So we're just going to see what happens lol I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I think the next chapter will be more about the reader but, let's see. Most of the time I just let these characters and chapters write themselves but... yeah, let's see. And thank you so much for reading!!! I truly appreciate it all!


	5. sunday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On your way to the diner, you have seconds thoughts on what truly is the responsible thing to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm sorry for the delay but here it is, the fifth chapter. I mapped out what I want to happen in this series and I think I finally have a clear end game now! I'm very excited. 
> 
> Enjoy and thank you for reading! :) 
> 
> P.S. Like one or two lines I took from the show so yeah, I don't own those lines. I actually believe it's just one I drew from the show, and it's towards the end of the chapter. Disclaimer!!!

You feel lighter than air with your arm linked with Matt’s as you guide him down the slick pavement of Columbia to the diner on campus. And you’re a bit nervous, because you don’t really know him and you haven’t done anything spontaneous like this in a while, but something tells you that you can trust Matt Murdock. 

Part of you second guesses yourself–is this really what you should be doing on a Sunday night? Especially when you have a 9 am class tomorrow? With a guy you _barely know?_

You feel your heart pound against your chest and try to steady your anxiety with small, deep breaths. You do want to do this because _these are your college years_ and you’ll remember them forever. Plus, you would finally have something to tell your roommate, Marci, when you got back.

“You still want to go?” Matt asks you with something sincere in his voice. You nod your head and then quickly clear your throat,

“Yes,” you tell him, and you’re not lying one bit, “I just remembered that I have a nine o’clock class tomorrow, that’s all.”

Matt chuckles and nods in understanding, “I’ve got an eight AM so, I guess we’re _both_ screwed.”

Knowing that Matt also had an early class tomorrow calmed you a bit and made you feel better about being slightly irresponsible. And then you’re reminded that this is definitely _not_ the worst thing you could be doing.

Now that you and Matt are not in a quiet setting with loud voices, it now seems like the opposite has taken place. The two of you are out in the open with seemingly only little to say, the only sound coming from the tapping of Matt’s cane. You’re nervous, but Matt’s a bit more mysterious. You’re not sure what he’s thinking. You don’t mind that at all, you think. It saves room for conversation at the diner.

Upon arriving you immediately open the door and walk yourself and Matt inside to find absolutely no one else in the place, except for a waiter sitting at the counter talking to a chef. The waiter, who definitely is a student at Columbia, is a short male with red hair and freckles with a giant smile that greets you and Matt warmly. He looks young and you think that he could be a freshman.

“Welcome to University Diner, guys! Take a seat wherever you’d like,” he says.

Matt lets you lead the way as you opt for a corner booth rather than a regular booth. The idea seems much cozier to you, naturally.

“It’s on your left,” you quietly tell Matt. He smiles and reaches out his hand to feel for the leather red seat, you notice, and you offer to take his cane and place it against the table.

“It’s okay,” Matt replies as he begins to pull the cane apart into three pieces and place it by his side in the booth. You feel yourself blush madly in embarrassment but with the smile Matt offers you, it settles your nerves greatly.

The same kid who greeted you and Matt before comes to the booth you two are sitting at and places menus on the table, glancing briefly at Matt and noticing his disability, but not saying anything.

“I think we know what we want, right?” Matt asks you. You nod and look at the kid whose name you see is Ryan.

“I’ll just have a cookies and cream milkshake,” You tell him.

“And I’ll have a chocolate milkshake,” Matt says.

“Alright guys, coming right up.” Ryan collects the menus and leaves you and Matt alone.

“So…,” Matt leans forward, lacing his fingers together in front of him, “Literature and Journalism? How come?”

You’re suddenly seeing Matt in a different light and you’ve noticed how his navy blue sweater compliments the coppery brown color of his hair perfectly. Still, his eyes remain hidden behind his dark glasses.

“I’ve always loved reading when I was younger, and then one day decided there weren’t enough books about princesses and started to write after that,” You tell him,” I was like, ten, maybe? So I’ve been writing since then and have recently taken interest in writing about the world.”

Matt smiles and now you’ve just really noticed how nice his smile is. You don’t even realize what he says until after the thought.

"That’s sweet,” Matt says, “And important, writing about what goes on in the world.”

“Definitely. What about you? Why law?”

Matt shrugs and opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. You wait patiently as he finds the right words.

“Well, I just…” Matt begins, “See, I don’t have a way with words at all,” Matt says sheepishly. You smile and shake your head,

“Take your time. Law school is no joke and there must be an important reason why you chose to do so,” You tell him.

He pauses, you notice.

“Yeah,” His smile is soft, “It is important, I just don’t know where to begin.”

Ryan brings the milkshakes you and Matt ordered over and you waste no time in taking a sip of yours.

“My dad was a boxer and I went to his matches almost all the time. He never wanted me to get into boxing, before and after the accident, and he always told me to study, to focus on school,” Matt starts, and you take a mental note of the way he said _“the accident”_. “He was murdered by someone and he never got the justice he deserved. So if there’s one way I can fight, it’s with the law,” Matt tells you.

You’re silent for a bit, thinking of the right thing to say. You don’t want to come off as pitying him, which is not what you are doing at all, but you also want him to know that you appreciate him for telling you that while also showing support.

“I’m sorry if that was too much,” Matt apologizes quickly, “I didn’t mean to lay that on you–“

“No, it’s okay,” you interrupt him, “like you said, you didn’t know where to begin and there really was no other way you could answer it. All I can say is that’s admirable and almost heroic,” You say to Matt with a smile, “Really.”

You see that slight pause in him again before he cracks into a soft smile, “I don’t know about that… but I’m trying.”

“Trying still makes you heroic. In fact, we all are trying. Isn’t that what college is about? Trying? Trying to figure out what we’re going to do, so we can do it and give back to the world, no matter what the world has thrown in our direction? Trying then becomes doing. Trying to do better and then be better?” You notice yourself rambling and you sit back in the booth, “Now _I’m_ sorry for saying too much.”

“No, don’t be,” Matt says, and you listen closely to what he’s about to say, “it sounds to me that you’re just… _passionate_.”

You know you’re a passionate person, but Matt is the first person to say that word to you. You’ve rambled to your friends before about things and have apologized for getting detailed but you’ve also found that no one has really understood you. No. Not until now.

And it’s someone you just met, that you barely know. Though it feels strange to admit that this is the first time you’ve felt a connection with someone, you have. And for once, you’re letting yourself let go of that fear and let yourself feel these feelings.

“Thank you,” You reply to Matt, “Really.”

“Of course…,” Matt says and then smiles playfully, “I can’t see for shit but I can definitely hear when someone is passionate about something.” 

You both burst out into laughter and this time it’s without the fear of disrupting anyone else in a quiet place, with nothing holding you both back. It’s just the two of you at midnight with nothing but a milkshake in hand and bit more understanding. It’s late, but neither of you care one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.P.S. Try to look out for when Matt's heightened senses come into play when the chapter is more in the Reader's POV!!! Notice anything? (Small details, of course). 
> 
> I also have made a playlist for this series on Spotify (yes, I am very excited about this series lol) and I'll post a link below. If anyone has any questions about the songs I chose, please ask! It is also a work in progress so if anyone has any recommendations, let me know! I'm trying to go for a 90s/R&B flare with some acoustics :) (Remember in the second season of Daredevil when Matt mentions he likes 90s Top 40?) 
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/user/onyourleftsam8/playlist/6vStsVmKz6xYSFrJ4KWP92?si=GyGzzSFcRrKjuweNJW4djA


	6. blessing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When his thoughts become too much, Matt likes to sit outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter sets up for the next one (as per usual lol) and I am very excited for the next chapter. Enjoy this one!!! And thank you to everyone who reads this series! I am so happy many of you are enjoying reading it as I am writing it. :))) <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 
> 
> This chapter brings a little more insight as to what's going on in Matt's head/where he's at mentally. 
> 
> WARNINGS/TRIGGERS: brief descriptions of anxiety

_Is this a blessing or a curse?_

Matt doesn’t know the answer to that question. And the question becomes more and more daunting as the days go by.

He surely shouldn’t be feeling this way so often, he thinks. He feels anxious, _constantly_ , and he’s afraid of the abilities he has because he’s not quite sure what he should do with them–if he should do anything at all. And what was there to do?

Matt can hear the anxieties in other people but he can hear the most that come from himself.

He hates it when his palms become tight and his heartbeats grow faster by the minute. All of it can be so overwhelming and quite frankly scary when everyone else engulfs each and every fibre of his being.

The worst part of it all is that he never asked for this.

Sometimes his senses work in his favor. He can tell which coffee pot in the cafeteria is fresh and which isn’t. Just by hearing a simple heartbeat he can tell if a guy or girl is in his presence. He can tell when someone is lying to him.

 His senses have been on his side many times. But it’s the things he hears that bother him the most–whether he is meant to hear them or not. 

And that’s what _really_ gets him–how can he tell if he is meant to hear something or not? He was given these abilities in an _accident_ –was the accident meant to happen by the Grace of God? Surely with his beliefs, that is one of the many cases it could be. Matt was suddenly given this responsibility of hearing things that he doesn’t know if he should listen to or not. Sometimes what he hears is innocent. Most of the time it’s not–and people are revealed to him for who they really are. And that’s all he hears on _this campus_. When he’s out in the city, he hears even worse. 

This is why he tries to focus on other sounds, or, feelings.

Sitting on a bench outside at Columbia University, Matt tries to find stillness in his thoughts by _literally_ feeling the season’s changing from summer to autumn. And he finds solace in it for a moment by the soft bristle of wind against trees and leaves crunching under people’s shoes. The air feels crisp but the warm sunshine makes up for it as it coats his cheeks.

It’s a blessing to feel the beauty of nature. And he comes to the same question again: _is this a blessing or a curse?_ Deep down, he knows it cannot be both.

Matt tries and still can’t think up an answer, but that doesn’t matter, because someone is walking towards where he is sitting.

“Hi, Matt.”

He’s never felt happier to hear your voice–your voice to pull him from his troubling thoughts. It’s been a few days since he was last with you and is now just realizing how badly he’s been wanting to hear your voice again. It’s soft and steady. Something Matt wishes he felt more often.

“Hi, ___,” Matt replies, looking in your general direction. He hears your heart skip a beat and he tries not to smile.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting–you looked a little deep in thought there.”

“No, no. It’s okay. Am I that obvious?” Matt smiles a little, a comforting gesture for you.

“Hah, not really. Maybe I’m just really perceptive,” You say as your tone slightly changes to a lighter one–less worried, Matt notices.

“As any good journalist should be.”

He hears your soft chuckle and notices your slight pause before you speak again.

“Mind if I join you?” You ask him.

Matt nods and moves over a bit, “sure.”

You’re silent for a bit as Matt waits for you to speak. He feels how close you are sitting next to him–not too far and not too close. You seem a little nervous which is funny to him–he remembers at the diner and times before that you’ve been nothing but comfortable and just _sure_ of the situation. But something about today is different. Your heart rate has picked up for some reason, and Matt wishes he could do or say something to make you feel better, but he waits to listen.

“Do you sit out here often?” You ask him. It comes out more like a blurt, like that wasn’t what you meant to ask, but Matt doesn’t make it obvious that he noticed. Because well, he can’t.

“Sometimes. Usually when I feel stressed about class or I’m overthinking something… it brings some peace of mind,” Matt explains.

“I’m sorry if I intruded–I get like that, too, and I never want to be bothered,” You apologize.

“You could never bother me. Besides, good company makes it all better,” Matt says. And he’s glad to hear that your heart rate is back to a normal pace. “How are you?” He asks.

“I’m good! Classes are going well. Everything’s just… nice. What about you?”

“I can’t complain either. Though I do wish I had a better sleep schedule.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

You and Matt sit in silence for a bit. Matt’s not sure why you’re so quiet and unsteady, and something tugs at the back of his mind wondering if anything happened to you. He’s trying to read you carefully: your heart rate has picked up again and he hears the change in your breathing when you open your mouth to say something and close it right back again.

Matt focuses on you as you try to steady your breathing with a few small breaths. It’s comforting to his senses–borderline intoxicating when he listens to your heartbeat slow down in tandem. When a brisk breeze passes by, you shiver slightly and your breath hitches before it goes back to normal again. The sun also shines on your cheeks, the warmth radiating off of you to Matt. _Intoxicating_. You’re drawing circles with your index finger on your denim jeans. _Comforting_. Your heartbeat alone is slowly becoming Matt’s favorite thing to listen to.

“So,” you begin, taking a deep breath, “in my Feature Writing class, we’ve been assigned to interview someone in the school about a major that’s not journalism. You’re the only person I know who isn’t in my major so, would you like to be apart of my project?”

Matt can’t help but smile. There was nothing wrong after all–you were just nervous to ask him this.

“___, I’d love to be apart of your project.”

“Okay, yay! The interview is going to be taped before I translate it to text. We’ll probably record in my dorm room Friday, uh–do you go out on Friday nights to frats or parties?” You ask him.

“Definitely not frats, but I don’t go out often. I’m all yours Friday night,” Matt replies. You take a breath of relief.

“Thank you so much, Matt. I really appreciate it. The dorm I live in is Hartley Hall, Room 272. I mean–I’m sorry–but did you want me to come get you or…anything I can do?”

“I’ll be fine. My roommate goes out on Friday’s so when he’s about to head out, I’ll have him walk me to your dorm. But thank you, I appreciate it.”

“Okay, of course. Well, I have a class that starts in about fifteen minutes but I’d be happy to walk you to wherever you’re going?” You ask Matt in a hopeful tone. Matt smiles again and nods his head,

“Yeah, yeah. Just to the library, actually.”

“Perfect. That’s the direction I’m going in for class,” you say.

Suddenly, you stand up and as you’re doing so, Matt feels his own breath hitch in his throat as he feels your hand run down the length of his arm and take his hand in your own. There’s nothing else Matt wants to focus on in _the world_ other than the five short seconds your hand lingers in his as you help him to stand up. And for the short moments your hands are connected, he cancels out all other senses and he tries to remember the feeling.

You let go of his hand and instead hold steady of his arm. Matt tries to look unfazed by your touches but he might be stumbling as he breaks out his walking cane. Maybe you do notice, maybe you don’t. He can’t tell if the slight squeeze you give his arm was to help steady him or… okay, maybe you _did_ notice his stumbling.

Soon enough, you lead the way. And Matt doesn’t feel for the slight breeze or listen to the crunching of leaves underneath both of your shoes. No, he only listens to your heart.

 


	7. marci

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who says journalists and lawyers can't be best friends?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I JUST WROTE THIS RIGHT NOW I COULDN'T STOP. ENJOY!!!!!!!!! :D :D :D :D :D And thank you for reading!
> 
> Some warnings: mentions of alcohol, puking

Walking back from the library you go over your to-do list for the rest of the night. 

You often do this, even if you’ve already gone over what you need to do. It brings you a sense of satisfaction and most of all, focus. Especially on your walk back to your dorm. It’s calming for some reason–glancing up at the autumn pink and blue sky while realizing that you actually don’t have _that_ much to do.

Passing by fellow students at Columbia University, part of you is disappointed that none of them are Matt Murdock. You mentally slap yourself because a boy is _seriously_ not something you should be constantly thinking about, even if he does cross your mind at least once a day. It’s silly, really. You feel giggly and nervous. It’s just a small crush.

It doesn’t _have_ to mean anything, though your mind always finds a way to give meaning to something.

_Math homework, reading for Cultural Perspectives, Feature Writing Project questions…_

Shit.

Matt is coming to your dorm _tomorrow_ and you still don’t have any questions prepared. _Typical_. But you’ve mastered the art of procrastinating and cramming everything last minute while still getting it done so, you don’t feel as worried like you used to.

Arriving at Hartley Hall, you make a beeline to your dorm room.

Decorated on the wooden door are the names of yourself and your roommate, Marci Stahl. Your name is written in purple cursive with a notebook image next to it to represent your Literature and Journalism major while _her_ name is written in pink cursive with a briefcase image next to it to represent her Law major.

Okay, so maybe you _did_ withhold some truth to Matt–he wasn’t the _only_ person you knew that wasn’t in your major but, you figure this project would be a nice opportunity to get to know him more because you do like him, even as just a friend.

Opening the door you’re immediately met with loud rap music playing from speakers and the faint smell of Gucci perfume.

“Marci, what the hell?” You ask incredulously as you take in the scene before you: Marci is wearing a pink mini skirt and white crop top with her blonde hair tied back in a pony tail and a mini bottle of vodka in her hand.

“Hi, roomie!” Marci flashes a winning smile at you. You can’t help but smile too, because this scene is far too familiar to you.

“You going out tonight?” You ask Marci as you shut the door behind you.

“Yup. It’s Thirsty Thursday,” Marci states as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Right, of course it is,” You reply. Marci tosses you a skirt and winks,

“You’re coming tonight.”

“Absolutely not.”

Marci pouts and crosses her arms, “Why not? You flaked on me last week too!”

“Marci, I don’t get it. Your major is way more intense than mine and you still have time to go out for Tequila Tuesdays and Wine Wednesdays,” You say, and Marci laughs and then shrugs.

“I get my shit done and reward myself by having fun. Which is something you should get in the habit of doing. The having fun part, I mean. We haven’t gone out together in so long!” Marci sits on your bed with you and grabs both your hands giving you puppy dog eyes, “Please?”

“Marci, you know I want to but I really need to focus and get everything done. I _promise_ next week, at least then my project will be done. Okay?”

Marci sits for a moment and gives you a warm smile, no sassiness involved, “okay. Hit the books, girl. I’ll probably need you in the morning.”

Marci gets up and grabs a denim jacket and shrugs it on, turning to face you again.

“This look good?”

“Beautiful, darling.”

“You’re so good to me, roomie. I’ll see you later tonight,” Marci says as she heads for the door, slipping the mini bottle of vodka in her pocket, “I’m off to meet with Paula and Amy.”

“Okay. Please make smart decisions. Oh, by the way… are you planning on being here tomorrow night?”

Marci pauses, “I mean, it’s Friday, that’s when everyone goes out. Why? You bringing home a hot date finally?”

Your cheeks burn as you roll your eyes, “No, Marci. I mean, well, yeah–I mean. Okay, a guy is just coming here so I can interview him for my project and I kinda need the room to tape.”

“Ohhhh, okay, I see you! An _interview_ for a _project_ that needs to be _taped_. Okay, okay, ___. I gotchu this one time,” Marci bursts out into laughter and you cover your face in embarrassment.

“Marci, it’s _not_ what it sounds like,” You smile a little.

“I’m _sure_ it’s not. But seriously, do you like this guy?” Marci asks as she waits at the door.

You think for a moment and smile to yourself, “Yeah, I mean… yeah. He’s nice.”

“There are hearts in your eyes, ___. I can see them now.”

“Oh, stop it.”

“No, it’s nice! I’m happy for you. I won’t be here tomorrow night so the place is all yours. Good luck with your interview, if that’s what you want to call an interview,” Marci quips once more before stepping out. You laugh and fall back into your bed.

“Be safe, Marci. I’ll be here to hold your hair back later.”

* * *

It’s 2 am. Or it’s 3 am. _It’s just really fucking late. Or early._

Either way, you’re half asleep when Marci comes knocking on the door. You feel groggy and distant and your eyes are barely open, but once you open the door to find Marci linked arms with a _complete stranger_ you scream.

“Ahhh!”

“AHHH!” The guy shrieks in an even higher voice than you do. Which, you would find funny if not for the late hour and strange situation.

“Who the hell are you?! Marci, are you okay?” You ask as you notice Marci is barely keeping her eyes open, “oh, my God, what happened?”

“She had too much to drink, I’m guessing. I wasn’t at the party she was at but I saw her stumbling around as I was on my way back from studying and… yeah. She kept saying Hartley Hall and 272 and well, I’m guessing you’re the roommate.”

“And best friend…” you trail off, trying to look at Marci, “Are you sure she just had too much to drink? Come on, help me get her inside,” You open the door for them both to come in and this time you get a look at who exactly this person is.

He’s a heftier guy, but even under that beard you can tell he has a baby face. Long blonde hair and a soft, welcoming voice, you can tell this person is a genuine nice guy.

“___,” Marci mumbles, “I’m fine. This is–I’m fine. Just too much to drink. Paula and A-Amy ditched me for some frat guys but… I just need to…”

Before she can finish her sentence, the stranger thinks on his feet faster than you do and quickly rushes Marci to the toilet for her to puke in. While he steadies her, you hold her hair back, like you promised you would.

“Marci, please promise me no more Thirsty Thursdays–and if you do go to one, it better fucking be water you’re drinking,” You say to Marci as she coughs in the toilet.

“I will,” she mumbles, “Just get me some water.”

You look at the guy and nod your head to the fridge, “Mini fridge, bottom shelf.”

He gets up and as he does, you whisper to Marci.

“You know him?”

“No.”

“Who is he?”

“___, I don’t know. But whoever he is, he’s my hero.”

He comes back in and hands Marci the water bottle. To your relief, Marci seems to be sobering up a lot with water and soft back rubs. It’s silent, and you almost forget that the guy is still sitting here with you two.

“Uhm,” you stutter, “What’s your name?”

“Oh, I’m Foggy Nelson,” Foggy holds out his hand and you almost laugh but with your free hand, you shake his.

“Nice to meet you.” You smile, “Thank you, Foggy. Really. Thank you.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to help out,” Foggy smiles, and he really is an adorable guy.

“Foggy,” Marci looks up at him from the toilet, and Foggy looks at her like a lost puppy, “Do you want to take me out on a date tomorrow?”

You try not to burst out into laughter at Marci’s forwardness, but then again, that’s Marci for you. And Foggy seems to be all about it.

“I mean, yeah. I’d love to! Will you go on a date with me?”

Marci rolls her eyes, “What did I just say? ___, can you get his number for me, I can’t–I need to sleep.”

You smile and nod your head, “Anything for you, Marci.”

You and Foggy bring Marci to her bed and place her water bottle next to her pillow, and within seconds, Marci is out like a light and most of all, safe.

You quietly walk Foggy to the door.

“Thanks again, Foggy. It’s scary to think what could have happened if you weren’t there. I owe you one,” You tell him graciously.

But Foggy holds up a hand, “You don’t owe me anything. Like I said, just trying to do what's right.”

“Well you definitely are. Give me your phone number so I can give it to Marci in the morning.”

Foggy digs through his pockets and pulls out a pen and scrap paper from a study guide which you notice is from the Law department.

“Hey, you’re a Law major too?” You ask.

Foggy brightens up, “You are?”

“No, I’m Literature and Journalism. But Marci is.”

“Wow… she’s perfect. Do you really think she actually wants to go on a date with me? I mean, she was intoxicated.” Foggy says sheepishly.

“Believe me, Marci only says what she thinks and doesn’t bullshit anything, even when she’s drunk. In fact, she speaks even more truth when she’s drunk. She probably appreciates what you did for her as much as I do.”

“Okay, awesome. I’m really excited. It was nice to meet you, ___. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around more.”

“You too, Foggy. Get home safely, okay?”

“Will do, Ms. ___.” Foggy salutes you which makes you laugh and heads on out.

Turning around and locking the door, you sigh in relief and absolute content that Marci came back safely. Part of you feels guilty that you didn’t stay up for her, but you know Marci would tell you to shove it and it’s not your job to baby her.

You definitely are questioning the loyalty in Paula and Amy, but you would discuss that with Marci in the morning. For now, she’s sleeping and you need some sleep, too.

“He really called me perfect, didn’t he? Boy’s about to be in for a long ride, let me tell ya,” Marci quips quickly from her bed. You laugh–partially at Marci’s comment, and partially at the fact that whenever Marci begins to sober up, she always falls into a southern drawl when speaking.

“Go to sleep, Marci.”

“Will do, Ms. ___.”

Even in the dark, you can see her mimic the salute Foggy gave to you, and you know in your heart that those two together will be something else.


	8. hazel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You interview Matt about his major.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait! I hope you enjoy this one :-) I hope it's sort of clear what this entire series will be about but if not, I assure you it will be revealed in each chapter as they come. Thank you for reading!

Matt sits patiently at his desk as he listens to Foggy babble on nervously about this date he has.

“Dude, this girl is _gorgeous_ like … _and_ she’s here for law, too!” Foggy exclaims as he changes his shirt for the third time, Matt can tell. Matt chuckles and shakes his head.

“She’s gorgeous _and_ she’s studying law? Sounds like this girl is your soulmate, Fog,” Matt says.

 “She may be. I’m kinda nervous for this date. I don’t really know what expect,” Foggy confesses. 

Matt can tell that Foggy is nervous, but not just by the way his palms are already sweaty and his voice sounds a little dry, but it’s the way Foggy is talking about this girl. He’s never talked about a girl like this before.

“Well, that’s the point of first dates. Not knowing what to expect, asking the basic questions to get to know each other more. That’s the fun of it and probably the easiest of all dates, too,” Matt explains, “You expect to not know what to expect.”

“That statement is true and mildly confusing but, I appreciate the words anyways, man. What are you doing tonight?” Foggy asks, Matt noticing the hint of concern in his friend’s voice.

Matt was going to ask Foggy to walk him to your dorm but since Foggy seemed a bit anxious about his own plans, Matt didn’t want to leave Foggy in even more anticipation for his date because from what his senses are telling him, Foggy is growing even more nervous by the second.

Plus, Matt thinks he’ll be okay. Your dorm building is not far from his. Besides, his heightened senses are like a radar anyways.

“Oh, I’m probably just going to do some studying.”

“Are you going to go out at all? It’s gonna be dark out. Do you think you’ll need me?” Foggy asks in worry, pausing his movements of tying his boots on.

“Don’t worry, Foggy, I’ll be fine. If I need you I’ll call you. Just have fun on your date, okay?” Matt reassures his friend.

“Matt, if you need to be somewhere, I can cancel,” Foggy offers.

Matt holds up a hand, “Please, Foggy, really, I’m okay. I’ll be fine, I can assure you that.”

Foggy takes a deep breath and stands up from his bed, “Alright, Matt. My phone will be on me all night. Call if you need me!” Foggy heads for the door and Matt stands up.

“I will, Fog. Have fun, alright? I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

* * *

The walk to your dorm isn’t far and it isn’t hard for Matt to figure out where he’s going.

He listens to the sounds of the night. The air is crisp and the crickets are already out chirping. Matt pulls his coat closer to himself and continues tapping his cane in front of him, enjoying the rare feeling of content he feels. He’s not nervous to see you, to _be_ with you, but he feels something in the pit of his stomach that he doesn’t think he’s ever felt before: butterflies.

_“Do you think he knows where he’s going?”_

_“Stop, don’t be rude.”_

He’s not _not_ used to hearing things like this when he’s walking alone and passing people. Matt tends to ignore it, but it amuses him that people really think that just because he’s blind, he’s incapable of doing anything. Still, it’s not the worst he’s heard, and he keeps walking.

When Matt reaches your dorm building he goes to the right side to feel for the sign. At the top he feels the metal letters that spell HARTLEY HALL and below, the braille that reads the same name.

⠠⠓⠁⠗⠞⠇⠑⠽ ⠠⠓⠁⠇⠇

Walking inside he’s thankful that the dorm building you live in is similar to the one he and Foggy live in. There’s an empty lobby desk to the left hand side and when you walk further in, two halls split.

 _272,_ he repeats to himself.

Even numbers are usually on the right and since your dorm room begins with 2, you would be on the second floor.

Matt senses an elevator near by and he can tell by the metal strings that rub together from the inside. He cringes and tries to sense a staircase because elevators make him feel dizzy.

The stairs are next to the elevator to his relief and he begins to ascend to the second floor, to your dorm room.

Exiting the staircase, Matt turns right and begins looking for your dorm room. He feels for each room number sign and finally makes it to the end of the hall as the numbers get bigger.

 _272_.

Matt pauses for a moment, resting both of his hands on his cane and recollects his thoughts, his thoughts that are always scattered and evaluating each other. He puts away his thoughts about his dad, the accident, and how hard it is to deal with his new but not-so-new abilities. Instead, he pictures you in his mind–at least what he _thinks_ you look like–and he takes a deep breath. Matt listens to your voice, the one he tries to remember every time he talks to you, and lets his memory replay it in his mind.

He knocks on your door.

Inside, he can hear you scrambling a bit–you were just sitting at your desk, and you nearly jumped up and out of your seat as if you were deep in with whatever you were doing. For a moment, Matt worries that maybe somehow you forgot he was coming, and you would tell him to come back another time. He knows he would.

You open your door and Matt notices that you didn’t have it locked, but before he can let that worry over take him, you’ve greeted him.

“Hi, Matt! Thank you so much for coming and doing this,” You thank him, and you just radiate warmth and… vanilla and lavender. “Please, come in.”

Matt smiles and steps inside and doesn’t expect you to take hold of his arm and walk him inside. He tries not to blush but he doesn’t think he’s successful in doing so.

“Of course, ___. I wanted to.”

“I thought you said you were going to have your roommate walk you over?” You ask him in a concerned tone. Matt hears you close the door but doesn’t hear the lock click.

“Yeah uh… he was really nervous about a date so I said it was okay for him to go. Besides, you’re actually not that far from my building.”

He hears you sigh, and he knows you’re not happy with what he’s told you and for some reason that makes his heart skip in his chest.

“Okay. My roommate’s on a date, too, that’s funny. But I would’ve been glad to come and walk you over, Matt.” You say to him. Matt gives you a warm smile and holds up a hand,

“It’s no big deal.”

He doesn’t realize that your hand is still around his arm when you walk him to the center of the room. You let go of him to fetch a few things and Matt takes this as an opportunity to take off his shoes.

Coming back to him, you sigh and run your fingers over paper–your notes–and you take his arm in your hand once again.

“Okay, um,” You say a bit nervously. Matt’s confused by your sudden hesitation but then you speak again, “Let’s sit on the rug.”

Matt slowly sinks to the floor with you and sits cross legged as you tuck your legs in underneath you. Matt places his hands on the rug and notices it’s soft fur–faux, he notices, and he runs his fingers through it as he revels in the softness.

“So, I’m going to have to record this, if you don’t mind,” you tell him. Matt shrugs and nods his head,

“That’s okay with me.”

“Okay,” You laugh nervously. Matt smiles. “Alright, so just– _there_ ,” You click something on a device, a tape recorder, and Matt can hear the slight buzzing.

“This is ___ ___ sitting here with Matt Murdock who is studying law in hopes of becoming a lawyer. Matt’s agreed to sit down with me today and talk about his major and mostly why he wants to do what he wants to do, so, thank you Matt. My first question is: how are you?” You ask him.

Matt’s taken by surprise by how professional you sound, and smooth and relaxed when just moments before you were a bit nervous and soft spoken. That’s not a bad thing, he thinks. He loves your voice whether it’s loud or soft and he could listen to you speak for hours on end. But you’ve made him laugh and he tries not to get lost in his thoughts again–though if they’re thoughts about you, that’s not so much a bad thing either.

“I’m good, ___. Thank you for asking me to sit down with you,” Matt says.

“Of course. So, what I really want to know is have you always been interested in law?”

“I have. Maybe not from a young age, but when college loomed over us in high school, becoming a lawyer was definitely up in the air for me to study.”

“Was there anything else you were considering?”

Matt thinks about this for a moment. Like he told you before at the diner, fighting for justice was the only way he could _fight_ since his dad didn’t want him to get into that sort of thing. Studying law and justice was the only way he could “fight.”

“No, honestly.”

“Matt, I find that I don’t like generalized terms or anything _basic_. I like complex, detailed meaningful things. The word _lawyer_ is very broad. We know you’re studying law, but when you graduate Columbia in a few years and you’re off into the world, what exactly do you want to be doing in your field?”

“Oh, that’s easy. Defense attorney.”

“Defense attorney,” you repeat him, and Matt’s mouth twitches upwards a bit, “Alone, with your own practice? Or a partner?”

“Definitely with a partner, actually, my roommate and I talk about this all the time.”

“That’s nice, there’s a solid foundation there. But why a defense attorney? That’s definitely not the first thing that comes to every law student’s mind.”

“You’re right. I want to be a defense attorney because I believe in protecting the rights of the people. The rights of people who are thrown under the bus often. Everyone deserves justice. And justice can be served in the court of law,” Matt explains.

“You’re essentially going to be representing criminals. Why would you want to do that? And I don’t ask that in an aggravating way, I would just like to hear your thoughts,” You say to Matt, and Matt notices your voice has gotten softer.

“I know. But, think about the word you just used– _criminals_. When people ask that question, it’s never _people_ or person–it’s always _criminal_. These are people who have committed crimes and despite that they still deserve a fair chance at a fair trial. Like I said, I want to protect the rights of the _people_. Even if they did something terrible, they still have rights, which is important.”

“Well, here’s a question. What if someone gets to those criminals before the law, before justice does?” You ask him. Matt furrows his eyebrows,

“What do you mean?”

“I mean like… a _vigilante_. Vigilantes get to the criminals before the authorities do, most of the time, if not _all_ the time, and they serve justice in the streets rather than in court. They do the dirty work for the police, if they don’t kill the criminal, at least. What happens then?”

Matt doesn’t know the answer to that question because either he doesn’t have one or he just doesn’t have one yet. You’ve stumped him, and his thoughts begin to swirl again.

“Vigilantes act outside of the law,” Matt begins, “It would be unjust.”

“Is it, though?” You question, “It’s an interesting debate. What if a criminal gets away with something horrible, something that somehow in some way there was a loop hole and the law couldn’t save the victim? That’s when a vigilante would come in and serve justice in the streets.”

Matt wants to agree, but he can’t find it in himself to say any words.

“It’s still unjust,” Matt says, a bit quieter, “situations like that should be left to the court of law.”

“Hmm. It’s still an interesting topic of debate,” you say softly, “But back to the heart of the interview, is there anything that set the fire inside of you to defend justice?”

“My dad,” Matt replies without missing a beat, “my dad.”

“I do remember what you told me.”

“Yeah… if there’s any way I can fight, it’ll be for justice.”

“Well Matt, I think that’s all I need for this project of mine. Thank you again for taking the time to sit with me and talk about this,” You say, holding the tape recorder to your mouth. When Matt hears you press the button again, the faint buzzing noise stops, and you let out a huge breath.

“You had some really nice answers there, Matt. Thank you, again,” You say, and Matt has noticed your voice changed again: it’s softer, lighter. Matt smiles.

“No problem, ___. It was fun. Did you want me to go now? Or?”

“No,” You answer quickly. Matt can almost hear you face palming but he tries not to laugh, “I’m sorry. No, I mean, you can stay. If you want to.”

“Okay. I will,” Matt says, “this rug’s so soft.” Matt mentally slaps himself for saying something so dumb, but you giggle and he hears you shuffle a bit. You’ve put your notebook and tape recorder on your bed and when you come back down, Matt notices you sit closer to him than you were before.

“Yeah, it’s white,” you tell him in a delicate voice.

“Can you, um,” Matt begins quietly, “Describe your room to me?”

Your heart nearly melts at his small, shy request but you take it with open arms.

“Yeah, yeah. So, um, well my bed is what we’re leaning on, sort of,” you tap the side of it, “it’s got pink and white roses on it, a pillow, and a fleece throw blanket. Our dorm has the same ugly cinder block walls that everyone else has,” you say. Matt thinks that you may be able to say words such as _ugly_ but with your voice you can make anything sound beautiful, he thinks.

“I’ve got a poster of an Oasis album hanging above my bed,” you smile, “( _What’s The Story) Morning Glory?_ ”

“You like Oasis?” Matt asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I love,” You whisper.

“What else do you like?” Matt asks, shifting so he’s leaning his head in his hand that rests at the top of your bed. He’s facing your general direction, so close he can feel the heat you radiate.

“Nirvana’s cool, The Beatles… oldies, you know?”

“I’m a nineties guy, for sure,” Matt says.

“I have a record player in here,” You tell him, “You like records?”

“I love,” Matt replies.

You blush, “Okay. Do you have any requests?”

“Oasis,” Matt says as if it’s the only option there is.

“There’s a reason ( _What’s The Story) Morning Glory?_ is hanging up above my bed,” you say as you pull out from under your bed a crate of records. Finding the album you slide it out and hold it up, “It’s my favorite one.”

Matt smiles in response as you open up your record player and switch it on. You carefully slide the disk out of the sleeve and place it on the player, lifting the needle and setting it down ever so carefully. Matt remembers how careful you always are, treating everything so delicately and with the utmost importance.

Records are no excuse.

The album begins to play, softly, and you find your seat again next to Matt. He laughs nervously, flashing you a gorgeous smile you still can’t believe is real, and you smile too.

You ponder for a moment as you gaze at him and all the mystery that hides behind his dark glasses. There’s still a lot you don’t know about Matt Murdock. “You know, I’ve never seen the color of your eyes,” You say softly, “Take off your glasses? Please,” you ask quietly.

“You sure you won’t be uncomfortable?” Matt asks.

“Why would I be?”

Matt reaches up and slowly takes off his red tinted rectangular glasses and sets them beside him. You meet his distant eyes, which are the deepest hazel you have ever seen.

“Hazel,” you simply state, “your eyes are hazel.”

Matt smiles faintly.

For a long while, the two of you simply sit and talk while the record plays softly in the background, and you think to yourself that there is no other way you’d rather be spending your Friday night.

Matt thinks the same, too.

You speak of childhood memories and favorite sodas. He actually doesn’t like soda but loves wine, which makes you quirk an eyebrow–but still, it’s little things like this that make Matt so strange and yet so endearing. He’s a mystery you want to get to the bottom of but not for the wrong reasons–a mystery that shouldn’t be a mystery because you think Matt hides parts of himself for reasons you don’t quite know yet.

All through out your conversation, Matt pays close to attention to your heart, to your breathing–he’s trying to find any indication that you want him to leave or he’s making you uncomfortable for how close he’s sitting to you and _without_ his glasses but he’s almost shocked that he finds nothing. No, you’re completely calm and he thinks this is the most relaxed he’s ever _felt_ you to be.

He doesn’t know what to think of that.

Matt’s sitting close to you and this is something you do not oppose to at all. You’re both leaning towards each other against the side of your bed and you’re looking at him so dream-like you have to remind yourself that he only came over here to be interviewed. But you cannot deny the connection you feel in your heart and once you feel something like that, it can only grow as the days go by.

He’s made you laugh and the sound is like the most precious thing he has heard in a long time. If only he could tell you that without it sounding creepy.

SIDE A of the record stops and you stop your sentence short to go and flip it but something in Matt switches and he places his hand on your left wrist, and this is a first for the both of you, but your breath hitches in your throat.

“Matt?”

“I’m sorry, I just…”

He trails off, his voice a bit tired suddenly, and you sit back down next to him, slowly.

“What is it?”

Before Matt can put his thoughts into words, he hears something click faintly, and he remembers that he didn’t hear you lock the door earlier. Acting on instinct, Matt turns around defensively, letting go of your wrist but blocking you protectively and anticipates who stands behind the door, as it opens.

When you both hear loud laughter, you both freeze.

Marci and Foggy enter the room, holding hands mid laughter but when they realize that it’s you and Matt sitting on the floor so close, Foggy can’t contain himself.

“Matt?”

“Foggy?”

“Marci!”

“___! I told you you need to lock the door! You always forget.”

“I–uh–“

“Matt, this is the girl you’ve been talking about?! _Marci’s_ roommate?”

Matt quickly puts his glasses on, “Um… I didn’t…”

“Her name is ___,” Marci snaps, “And ___, you didn’t tell me your interviewee was Foggy’s _best friend_!”

“How was I to know that?!” You exclaim, your cheeks burning red. “Hi, Foggy.”

“You know Foggy?” Matt asks you.

Before you can answer, Foggy speaks.

“We all met that night I came home late, remember? Marci is the girl I found and now… took out on a date,” Foggy giggles. Looking at the scene before you, you see his hair is a bit tussled and Marci is carrying her denim jacket on her arm. They must’ve been drinking, by the way Foggy is slurring his words a bit and the bouts of laughter you heard before.

“Were we interrupting something?” Marci asks in a teasing tone of voice to you. You shoot her a glare and shake your head,

“No, actually, we’re done. How bout we leave you guys to it and I walk you back, Matt?”

Matt can hear it in your voice that you want him to say yes because the moment, or, _whatever it was_ , was ruined by _both_ your roommates and best friends.

“Yeah, okay,” Matt agrees.

While Marci shoots you a wink, Foggy pats Matt on the back. After you both slip your shoes and jackets on, you and Matt are back to being alone.

You’re quiet on the way out of the building. Matt can’t tell if you’re upset about being disrupted or if it’s something else.

And just as he’s about to ask you what’s wrong, you say something.

“That was kinda funny,” You say softly, “I didn’t know my roommate and your roommate were going on a date _together_. I mean, I knew Foggy but didn’t know he’s your best friend,” you explain.

“Yeah, me either. Is Marci your best friend?”

“Yeah, she is. She’s an interesting one, that girl.”

“Seems like she and Foggy are made for each other,” Matt smiles. You can’t help but smile too.

It’s quiet for the rest of the walk, but you take it upon yourself to link your arm with Matt’s. He doesn’t mind this a bit. He doesn’t realize you’ve been waiting for him to do that until you actually do.

Reaching his dorm building, you sigh–you hated that your night with Matt was cut short so quickly. Well, it had been more than an hour but that wasn’t nearly enough time for you. Matt stops walking and faces you.

“So, I have a question for you now, Ms. ___,” Matt begins. And you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face.

“Yes, Mr. Murdock?”

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” Matt asks, a boyish smirk on his face.

“Hmm,” You pretend to think about it for a moment, which causes Matt to laugh, “Nothing, I don’t recall. Why?”

“I’d like to take you out to dinner, if that’s okay,” Matt says in low yet sweet voice, like he’s unsure of what you’re going to say.

“I’d love to, Matt,” you tell him softly.

“Okay,” he smiles, “okay.”

“Alright, well, you know where to find me. Do me a favor?” You question him as you slowly unlink your arm with his.

“What?”

“Don’t hide yourself so much,” you say, “I’m not just talking about your eyes. You don’t have to hide with me.”

Matt’s heart warms at your words. “Okay. I won’t.”

“Good.”

“Get home safely, please?”

“I will,” he hears you call out as you start walking off and soon running around the corner. But Matt, he stays outside and focuses on your breathing and footsteps. He hears the door to your building open and then soon the key card that opens your dorm room and then he hears Marci and Foggy’s laughter.

_“We have a lot to discuss, roomie. Foggy, it’s time for you to go home.”_

And Matt walks himself inside, with a smile he cannot wipe off his face. When he gets inside of his dorm room, he feels for his own record collection and pulls out an album to play on his own record player.

The first song to _(What’s The Story) Morning Glory?_ plays as he closes his eyes and lies on his bed. 


	9. nervous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Matt go out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the wait, guys. This was a long chapter for me to get through (with fun!) but also I have lots of homework and on top of that work. Unfortunately, I can't say there will be a set update schedule but I'm hoping the wait for the next one won't be more than a week and a half. But anyways, enjoy this chapter! And thank you so much for your patience!

Guilt is a feeling that Matt Murdock is not unfamiliar with. 

It comes in waves and he drowns in it for hours, often finding the best way to cope with it is to sit in silence away from Foggy, away from his dorm, away from everything–yet he still feels like he’s suffocating because he can still _hear_ and _feel_ and _sense everything around him_.

Tonight, however, he puts that feeling away. No matter how hard it is, he has to put it away. He can never get rid of it, he thinks. Instead he puts it away in a mental box and kicks it out of his mind, all for your sake, because you are a light for him, an escape, and you don’t deserve that kind of darkness to deal with. You don’t deserve to be around darkness.

Darkness is not of your nature.

It’s a colder autumn night. Matt has made sure that he put layers on to prepare for the weather–he can always tell how cold it will end up being. He sighs softly as he wraps his scarf around his neck. Foggy is laying in his bed as _Drops of Jupiter_ by Train playing faintly on his laptop.

“You nervous for your date?” Foggy asks.

“No,” Matt replies, “It’s just been a while, I guess.”

Foggy sits up and shuts his laptop, causing the song to stop. “I feel you, man. But hey! Apparently she _really_ likes you. That’s what Marci’s told me, so… I probably shouldn’t have said that but you’re my best friend so, yeah.” Foggy has the type of voice that one doesn’t even need to be looking at his face to know that he’s smiling. Matt smiles lightly,

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, so, don’t lie about being nervous and–don’t be nervous, Matt. You said she’s going to be stopping by to pick you up?”

“Yeah,” Matt says, “She insisted.”

“That’s sweet, man,” Foggy says, “Real sweet. Hey! Want to know what I just thought of? A double date! It has to happen!”

Matt smiles and chuckles lightly, “Maybe, Fog. Maybe.”

Three small knocks appear on the door. Matt begins to walk towards it but Foggy has already beaten him to look through the peep hole.

“Gotta make sure,” Foggy reasons. Matt smiles and lets Foggy open the door. But Matt can already tell it’s you by your usual perfume.

“Oh, hi, Foggy,” Matt hears your soft voice which sounds surprised, “How are you?”

“I’m good! Just checking the door for Matt to make sure it’s you and… it is. Anyways, I hope you guys have fun tonight,” Foggy says. Matt comes over, shrugging his jacket on and grabbing his cane.

“Foggy, you sound like a parent,” Matt laughs. Foggy raises his arms up in defense,

“Hey, I genuinely want you guys to have a good time! By the way, ___, you better have my Matty back by 11!” Foggy jokes. You and Matt both laugh and say your goodbyes to Foggy.

“Will do, Mr. Nelson,” You say.

Foggy shuts the door, and now it’s just you and Matt. Matt smiles and shakes his head,

“Sorry–Foggy knew you were coming and he’s all excited and–“

“You don’t need to apologize,” you say, and you link your arm with Matt’s. He takes a moment to adjust and can tell you’re wearing a leather jacket. “So, where are you taking me, _Matty_? Do you like being called Matty?”

Matt smiles as the two of you begin walking outside the dorm building, “It’s okay,” Matt reasons. “I like Matthew, though.”

“Matthew,” you repeat, and Matt can’t help the feeling it sends to his chest, “Okay, then.”

“As to where we’re going… I hope you like Italian. It’s a bit away from campus, if you don’t mind the walk,” Matt says.

“Not at all,” you reply, “Let’s get away from that place for a little while.”

* * *

 

Something about leaving campus makes Matt feel like a free bird. Of course, college in general was supposed to make you feel like that, but actually leaving campus as an independent, young adult was a feeling in itself. For the first time, Matt feels at ease with being on his own.

He can’t remember the last time he really had someone.

Well, maybe he can. And maybe he chooses not to. He remembers an old mentor of his from his childhood–Stick–but with no emotional attachment anymore, Matt pushes the thought of him aside.

The two of you walk in tandem, both of you saving conversation for when you arrive at the restaurant which is still a little farther away. Columbia University isn’t even in sight anymore to where you and Matt have ended up, so far.

For a Saturday night, it’s oddly quiet on the upper West side. Matt’s cane click clacks on the side walk pavement and he hears you shudder at the sudden chill in the air. You didn’t wear enough layers, he notices. Maybe he should’ve said something before you both left.

The air is fresh, at least. New York City is filled with many smells, but on this quiet street, the only scents he smells are fresh leaves, slick pavement, and your vanilla and lavender perfume.

There’s a loud drumming coming close to the both of you. The taste of salt appears in the air and Matt senses it. Matt is slightly alarmed as he unnoticeably pulls you closer to his side. When the person with the loud heartbeat has passed, he’s relieved to have concluded that the person was only out for a run, and the small vibrations that came from the person’s earphones were a giveaway.

“That guy was out for a run. Who goes running this late at night? And it’s freezing,” You say to Matt. He can’t help but chuckle in response,

“People are strange,” Matt says.

Matt can tell that the two of you are getting closer to the restaurant because he now can smell fresh tomato sauce and basil in the air. He can hear the soft chattering of voices getting louder by each step. Just two more blocks.

Suddenly that’s all brushed away as a strong scent of cheap cologne and cigarettes fill his senses soon after, accompanied by two heart beats not too far behind the both of you. At first, Matt assumes it’s just people walking down the street, which is not uncommon for New York City. So, he ignores the sound of their footsteps and tries to focus on what’s in front of him.

But something is tugging at his mind, and for some reason it all leads back to his old mentor, Stick. And he focuses back on the strangers.

What’s odd is that the people behind you two, who Matt has figured out are two men in their late twenties, have not said a word to each other since Matt has noticed them–since they sort of appeared out of nowhere, without a single noise other than their footsteps. This alarms Matt and he makes a mental note to check in on them every so often for however long he needs to.

“We’re here,” you say to Matt as you turn the both of you to the right. He’s pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of your voice like a magnet. Matt holds the door for you and lets you walk in first, as his attention is drawn into the direction of the two guys.

Matt fazes out as he notices they’re coming towards him and not stopping, and he’s not sure what to do. Now that they are closer, Matt can tell what exactly they look like.

One is taller than the other–he can tell this by the pace they both walk at; one is faster than the other–but both are built strong. They both reek of the same cologne, a cross between cedar oak and apple, or at least that’s what it’s _trying_ to be, if not for the harsh and burning chemicals. The taller one stomps out a cigarette on the ground and the short one twists something in his back pocket.

It’s a knife. He can hear the blade getting caught on a strand of denim.

“Matt?”

“Sorry,” Matt responds quickly as to not alarm you, “Just thought I forgot something.”

You laugh a little, “You just noticed now? Do you need to go back?”

“No, it’s okay.”

He hears the doors of the Italian restaurant jingle open as the two men walk in behind.

“Good evening and welcome to Il Rosso. How many?” A man at the front desk greets Matt and you. He has an Italian accent, you notice. Matt wants to answer but he is too focused on the guys who have followed you two as well as the drumming of his own heart. He’s crossed between freaking out and playing it cool.

You’re about to speak as the host looks at you expectantly. He has broad shoulders and a red vest on with a black bowtie that matches his black hair.

“Uh, I have a reservation. Murdock, for two,” Matt stutters lowly to the host.

You watch as the man looks in his reservation book, his pointer finger leading him down the list of names he has. The low lighting in the restaurant makes him look mysterious as a single lamp shines down on his notebook. The ambiance of the whole place is dark and the music they play is genre you cannot quite recall you’re familiar with.

Matt, on the other hand, is freaking out. He’s not sure what to do first, but he makes sure that he’s blocking you from the two guys as he stands in impatience for the host to find his name in the reservation book.

“Ah! Mr. Murdock. Please, right this way,” the man says as he smiles at you. “I’ll be with you two gentlemen in a moment,” he says over Matt’s shoulder to the guys behind him.

“We’ll be here,” the shorter one says. A deep, raggedy voice. Matt tries to remember it. Matt turns his head slightly, but when he feels your hand intertwine with his, he follows you.

The host walks you down a narrow path that passes people already seated at their tables, many of them mid conversation and mid eating. They’re enjoying the night or going out out of pure obligation for whatever it is they need to do. But there are far too many scents, and heart beats, and noises that overwhelm Matt, but he focuses on your heartbeat. He tries to focus on your hand holding his and follows you down steps that lead to a quieter part of the restaurant.

“And Mr. Murdock, of course we will gladly accommodate for you. I’ve brought over a menu that reads in braille,” the host says. He hands you and Matt menus as you take a seat in a corner booth near the back of the restaurant.

“Uh, thank you. That’s very kind,” Matt replies, taking the menu graciously and setting it down slowly. The two men still wait at the host stand.

You flip through the pages of the menu and while you try to skim the pages to see if you like anything, the numbers that follow the listings are what really grab your attention. This isn’t a cheap restaurant, and you look at Matt nervously.

You tell yourself that you should enjoy the night and treat yourself–and Matt–without any worries. You know Marci would tell you the same.

“Anything you like?” You ask Matt.

You look down and notice Matt has ran his fingers over the same line five times over. He stops and leans forward,

“I’m sorry?”

“I asked if you liked anything,” you reply softly.

“Oh, um, I’m still looking,” Matt replies quickly.

You pat your mouth together and curse at yourself; you’ve interrupted his careful reading, you think.

Matt, on the other hand, is losing his shit.

But he has to remain calm, he has to try to maintain some sort of composure, even though the host went back to the host stand to seat the two men only _across the room the two of you sit in_.

He listens carefully to their conversation as he absentmindedly runs his fingers over the menu in front of him. 

_“He’s blind.”_

_“I know.”_

_“It’ll be an easy attack. Get him on the ground and grab her.”_

_“No shit. The hard part is getting to them. Do we really have to sit here and eat and wait til they’re done?”_

_“When she goes to the bathroom. I know there’s a back door near the women’s room. I saw it. He’ll think she stood him up, poor guy.”_

_“Okay so, we wait.”_

Matt is thinking of a thousand different ways he can prevent this from happening but almost all of them end up with you being put in danger. He needs to get rid of the two guys himself, unless he thinks of an escape plan where they won’t see the two of you leave.

“Matt?”

“Hm?”

He hears you laugh nervously as you place your menu down.

“Are you okay?” you ask him. “You haven’t moved your hands at all.”

“I’m sorry,” Matt focuses on you. The last thing he wants to do is make you scared. “There’s just a lot of people in here, I can just–feel it, if you know what I mean?”

“Oh,” you say quickly, “We can go somewhere else, Matt. I really don’t mind. Besides, I don’t know if the prices are on your menu but they’re definitely not student friendly.”

“You wouldn’t have to worry anyways,” Matt says genuinely, “Um…”

So, he thinks quickly, you want to leave. This is the perfect opportunity for him to get the two of you out of there but, where would he take you then?

He does have an idea, but it’s even farther from campus.

But right now, Matt’s running out of options. He doesn’t have a choice. He has to think quick.

He pauses and listens for beyond the restaurant, beyond the street, beyond where he sits right now. And he listens for a specific car, no, a _bus_ with a specific destination.

In the distance, about three blocks away, a bus en route to Hell’s Kitchen is about to approach the stop at the end of the block in which Il Rosso is on. Matt calculates that he has about exactly five minutes to get the both of you out of there without the two guys following you.

“Good evening folks, how are we tonight?” A young waiter with a boyish grin and voice greet your table. You look up and smile at the kid.

“We’re good,” you reply, “You?”

“I’m doing fine myself. My name is Sebastian and I will be your server tonight. Are we thinking about any drinks already?”

“Um… Matt? Are you thirsty?”

A moment of silence from Matt becomes too long for you.

“I’m sorry,” you say to the waiter, “Can you give us a few more minutes?”

“Of course. Take your time.”

He walks off with his notepad to greet another table. You look at Matt and you feel yourself getting frustrated at his non responsiveness.

“Matt, if you don’t want to stay, just say so. I don’t mind. Just make a decision.”

_Just make a decision._

“I have another place in mind, but we’re gonna have to make the next bus. Will you please come?” Matt asks, unable to disguise the worry in his voice.

“Yes, I will,” you say, “you know I will.” Your voice is hushed, and you say what you mean. Despite Matt being in panic mode, he can still hear the truth in your voice, and for some reason, that sends a pang to his heart.

Across the room, at a small table the two men sit at, Matt hears a waiter come over with a trainee at his side. 

_“Good evening gentlemen, how are you two tonight?”_

_“My name is CJ and this is James, who will be training with me tonight.”_

_A few grunts in response. They’re sitting in anticipation. But they’re not aggressive enough to interrupt the two waiters–most likely to not come off as suspicious._

“Okay, let’s go,” Matt takes your hand without hesitation and starts to walk the two of you quickly down the path you walked before, up the stairs, past the large amounts of people and food.

Matt hears your heart hammering in your chest–you’re worried, and he understands why. But there’s no time for explanation when he hears the two guys get up from their table.

Matt quickly whips out his cane and in a flick of his wrist it snaps out whole. On his path is a waiter carrying a tray full of food and even though he knows the damage it will cause, he doesn’t have a choice.

He makes sure that you’re past the waiter and as he has you by his side, Matt reaches his cane out to the waiter’s feet, causing him to trip and losing balance of the tray, which has now splattered bowls of spaghetti and soups all on the carpeted floor.

In the distance, he hears one of the guys curse. You gasp.

“Oh, shit. It’s not your fault, Matt, just–hold on–“

He hears a commotion uproar–the guests of the table are angry but once they notice Matt’s disability, they’re anger becomes silent.

“He’s not feeling well,” you say to the waiter, “I’m so sorry.” 

The manager comes over, willing to speak with you, but Matt has pulled you both quickly out of the restaurant, away from the commotion, away from the two men.

And he starts to speed walk, without giving you a second thought, and once he thinks he’s made it far enough, he feels you pull his arm.

“Matt, what the hell? I mean, you tripped but… you were like… completely tuned out. Why are we running so far?”

Before Matt can answer, he scans the area where the two of you stand. It’s a few blocks down from the restaurant and around a corner at a bus stop, like he predicted. It’s a bit of a livelier setting with more people sitting around and people standing in front of their own shops. Matt listens for the two guys at the restaurant, who are cursing at each other, but soon walk down the road they came from.

You’re safe.

“I’m sorry… when there’s a lot of people in a room, I just–I freak out and I get nervous,” Matt says, which isn’t entirely _un_ true.

“Matt,” you step closer to him and take his hand in yours in a comforting manner, “Why didn’t you say something before we left? I would’ve been happy with just sitting at the library and talking,” you tell him with a half smile on your face.

“I know, but I wanted to take you out. I’m sorry I ruined it,” Matt says. In the distance, he can hear the bus pulling closer to the stop, the tires screeching against the pavement as he hears the heavy vehicle makes its way down the street, “But I do know another place we can go to–or, that I want to show you.”

“And where’s that?” You ask.

“It’s a bit far,” Matt says.

“ _Where?_ ” You plead for him to tell you. He’s glad to hear playfulness in your voice.

The bus pulls to a stop, the loud sound of the breaks being shifted. Matt holds out his hand for you to take as he answers you quietly.

“Fogwell’s.”


	10. fogwell's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt takes you to Fogwell's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG!!!! I'm so sorry, guys. This last semester had me so busy! I'm sorry for disappearing like that, but I promise more frequent updates from now on. Thank you so much for being so patient. I'm happy to be continuing this story! Also, sorry if this chapter seems a little off, it's been a while! But I hope you enjoy it otherwise :)

The moment Matt steps into the familiar doors of Fogwell’s, memories come washing over him in waves of intensity. Now a bit older–and with his heightened senses–it feels that much more overwhelming. 

The ring in the middle hasn’t changed much and the smell has definitely gotten older and stronger. He remembers the old punching bags hanging down from the ceiling. They’re red, he recalls. He can almost see them in his mind. The mats haven’t been replaced in years and they reek of sweat, but only Matt can smell that detail–thankfully? Thankfully. 

“Where are we?” you ask softly, giving Matt’s hand a squeeze that brings him back to the present. Matt clears his throat and looks in your direction. He focuses on you for a moment–you have a much nicer scent than those mats. 

“This is Fogwell’s,” Matt says. He knows that doesn’t explain much so he continues, “I used to come here a lot with my dad.”

“Is this where he boxed?” You ask.

“Yeah,” Matt replies, “all the time.”

You’re silent and by the way Matt feels a slight breeze float in his direction, he realizes you’re walking around a bit. He finds a spot against the ring and leans against it while he waits for you. 

“Creel v. Murdock,” he hears you say. The poster that you run your fingers over gently crackles and Matt flinches only slightly at the sound. “Did he win?” you ask with a smile. 

“Uhm,” Matt stutters at first, “he did, yes.” 

You hum and begin to walk over to where Matt is sitting. Matt straightens his back and grips his cane in his hands as he feels your warm presence getting closer and closer. He welcomes it. 

You sit down next to him and look at him. Then your eyes wander to behind Matt as you look around the rest of Fogwell’s. It’s a dimly lit place that has not been kept up to date with the present, but still, you find it quite homey. This place is clearly important to Matt, and you weren’t about to disrespect that. 

“Why did you take me here?” You ask Matt in a non-attacking way. You are simply curious and bit surprised–when you first heard the name Fogwell’s, you were expecting a burger joint, or something. 

Matt opens his mouth to answer but he finds no words to say. Why _did_ he take you here, he asks himself? Oh, right. Because the two of you were being stalked by two strange men he didn’t know and he didn’t want to freak you out because _how was he supposed to know he’s blind_ so he thought of the safest place he could think of which happened to be all across town. 

“There was a lot of people at that place and I just sometimes freak out and–“

“You told me the reason already. I’m asking why _here_ ,” you gently interrupt him. 

Matt catches his breath and nods in understanding. “This place is sort of like my safe haven. I come here when I get lost in my own head. I even struck up a deal with the guy who still manages this place. I have a key here if I want to come after hours to work out or just–to be here.” 

“It means a lot to you,” you simply say. 

“Yeah,” Matt says, “it does.” 

“Tell me more,” you request as you lean back on the ring. 

Matt listens to your heart closely to hear any sign that you don’t mean for him to go on, but he doesn’t find one. He leans back with you and takes a deep breath. 

“I would do my homework here while my dad practiced in the ring. I’d sit at that table over in front of the lockers all the time. My dad never let his job get in the way of my school work. There were a lot of late nights,” Matt says. You listen carefully, and you hear something change in his voice–he likes talking about this, but you can tell he never really gets to. 

“I saw some pretty crazy things. Things a nine year old definitely should not have seen,” Matt chuckles, and you laugh along with him. He’s facing the ceiling while you’re gaze is on him. 

“Of course, before the accident,” Matt addresses with something in his smile you can’t exactly tell what it is. 

“What happened? The accident, I mean. If you don’t mind me asking,” you say softly, afraid you might’ve crossed a line. 

“I don’t mind,” Matt can hear in your voice you’re nervous, “I think that’s something everyone sort of wonders. It was just a freak thing, really. An old man was crossing the street and wasn’t fast enough to move or even see that a truck had been coming his way. So, I ran out to him and pushed him off the street and the truck came to me. The truck didn’t hit me, just slid by, but I was still knocked to the ground,” Matt tells you. 

“Wow,” you whisper, “a little hero.” 

Matt laughs at what you call him, “I did what anyone would do.” 

“Not any kid, Matt.” 

He doesn’t know what to say. 

He hears your stomach rumble quietly, so quiet you probably didn’t hear, and guilt is now all he feels. 

“I’m sorry, ___,” Matt whispers as he looks towards you, “I ruined dinner. And I took you so far away from campus.” 

“Don’t be sorry, Matt! I can’t blame you for getting anxious in a crowded room like that. Really, it’s okay,” you reply. But your response makes him feel even worse. 

Because you feel bad for him for all the wrong reasons. Matt wasn’t actually anxious–maybe to a certain extent–but really, the two of you were in danger. And Matt couldn’t tell you that. 

“I mean…” you trail off, and Matt perks up a bit, “I wouldn’t mind grabbing something quick, though. Do you know any good places here in Hell’s Kitchen?” 

Matt smiles as you both sit up. 

“I know plenty.” 

Exiting Fogwell’s, Matt locks the door with his key and turns to you. You bring him in an embrace, one that he wasn’t expecting, but quickly melts into. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

“Yeah, Matt.” You reply. 

A rustle is heard to Matt’s left, but he pays no attention to it. No, not when he’s still holding you. 

On the way back home, you and Matt stopped at a pizza place Matt used to go to all the time and grabbed a quick slice. It was almost ten at night, surprisingly, and you were starting to get a little sleepy. 

After eating, Matt paid at the counter and you waited for him at the door of the place. You naturally linked your arm around his and started to lead the way outside when he suddenly brought you closer to him. 

The two of you caught the next bus all the way back uptown and despite it being so late at night, you were content with how the night had gone. You weren’t happy that Matt felt uncomfortable in the beginning, but you were happy you got to see another piece of himself tonight, a piece that fit a very complicated puzzle, you thought. 

He’s got the window seat inside and you’re snug next to him. You’re both quiet, and tired, but all around happy. 

* * *

Matt offers to walk you back to your dorm, which you accept.

You find yourself walking back slowly with him, as this means that your night with Matt Murdock is coming to an end. And you hold the quiet groan you want to make when your eyes set on the door of your building only a few feet away. You hold onto Matt’s arm a bit tighter. 

He notices. 

“Thank you for pizza, Matt,” you say, “and thank you for showing me Fogwell’s. I liked it.” 

The two of you come to a stop in front of your dorm building. Matt nods as you let go of him to stand in front of him.

“Of course. I’m sorry again, ___.” 

“Don’t be sorry. I don’t want to hear that again,” you say, “I really had a great time Matt.” 

“I did, too.” He smiles.

Silence slowly fills the space between the two of you–that, and Foggy’s voice in Matt’s subconscious yelling _KISS HER!_

“Well,” you start off, “I guess–“

“Can I kiss you?” Matt blurts out. You let out a laugh, and Matt wants to disappear, as he feels his own cheeks redden. 

“I don’t kiss on the first date,” you reply teasingly. 

But it’s a good thing Matt is quick. A lawyer has to be, really. 

“So, that means there’ll be a second date?” he says. 

This time it’s your turn to blush. You smile, and brush a strand of his hair from out of his face. Matt tries not to get lost in the feeling.

“Yes,” you whisper. 

You walk inside, and Matt stays put until he hears the door of your dorm unlock, and then lock, and then he stops listening when he hears Marci squeal, _“So! How’d it go?”_

And Matt walks himself home–nothing heavy in his heart.

* * *

_The man accidentally brushes against the brick wall of the building, as he watches Murdock hold a girl in his hands. For a moment, he thinks he’s noticed._

_He’s not._


End file.
